


Lost and Found

by Ginipig



Series: Cullistair One-Shots [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Alistair, Broodmothers (Dragon Age), Discussion of broodmothers and all they entail, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Not Really Character Death, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: When Alistair doesn't return from a Warden mission with the rest of his Wardens, Cullen fears the worst.
Relationships: Alistair & Leliana (Dragon Age), Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, cullistair - Relationship
Series: Cullistair One-Shots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604995
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Lost

Cullen hunched over, palms flat on his desk, head bowed, in an attempt to stave off the utter despair threatening to overwhelm him.

Two weeks ago today, Alistair’s Warden contingent had returned from a routine mission without their commander. Alistair had apparently chased after a horde of darkspawn dragging away a female Warden, who eventually rejoined the group injured but alive, and without their leader. She’d awoken surrounded only by over a dozen dead darkspawn and Alistair’s shield, which was covered in blood.

Her name was Monette, and it was she who had brought Alistair’s shield to the war room. Cullen had taken it to his office where it lay now, cleaned and polished, in the center of his desk.

It had belonged to Duncan and was among Alistair’s most prized possessions. He would not have left it willingly. Leliana disagreed, insisting that Alistair must have intended it as a message of some sort, which Cullen found to be wishful thinking at best and denial at worst. His only comfort — and it was a small one, as there were far darker explanations — had been that Alistair’s sword, made of starmetal and gifted to him by the Hero of Ferelden, had not been recovered.

His horse, Griffon, had arrived at Skyhold filthy and riderless on the third day after the Wardens returned. For two weeks, Leliana’s people had scoured the area between Skyhold and where Monette awoke — the latter of which had been thoroughly searched by the Wardens, as well — but found no evidence of Alistair or the darkspawn.

And still, Leliana stubbornly refused to accept what Cullen had begun to fear was the inevitable, to the point that this morning they had fought, complete with raised voices, at the war table. He had insisted she “recognize reality,” and she had accused him of not trusting Alistair. He’d questioned why Alistair wouldn’t send a message with an explanation in the past two weeks, and she rattled off several reasons that merely sounded like excuses. Because he _did_ trust Alistair, who wrote daily letters to him every day they were apart. He would never allow Cullen to wonder at his safety, even if he had to flag down a merchant who had never heard of Skyhold to find one of Leliana’s spies twenty miles west to send a letter telling Cullen he’d be one day late. (Even Leliana had been impressed upon receiving that message.)

This time, Alistair had been missing for two weeks, without his horse and having left his shield behind, and Cullen had not received a word.

In stark contrast to Leliana’s stubborn confidence, with every hour that passed a little bit more of Cullen’s heart shriveled and died as he worried that this time, Alistair would not be returning to him.

With a strangled shout, Cullen pounded a fist on the desk. He had never felt so helpless. Alistair had assured him that the mission was so routine that “the biggest danger will be that I fall asleep from boredom and topple off Griff because the recruits take care of everything.”

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut to keep his tears in. Why did Alistair have to be so noble? Why couldn’t he, just once, look out for his own wellbeing? He knew why, of course, and it was part of why he loved Alistair so, but that didn’t keep his heart from slowly breaking.

What grieved him nearly as much as the thought of losing Alistair was that with no body, Cullen could not properly lay him to rest. He would never be able to give Alistair the hero’s pyre he so richly deserved. Would anyone truly understand everything he had done for Ferelden and for Thedas, for the Wardens and the Inquisition, for countless people across half a dozen countries? It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair.

How could the Maker be so cruel? To have allowed them to finally find happiness in each other, only to rip it away via circumstance and uncertainty.

Cullen collapsed into his chair. Caressing the shield, the only significant possession of Alistair’s he had left, he allowed his tears to flow freely. If Leliana refused to cry, if Thedas would never understand, he would grieve Alistair enough for them all.

He didn’t know how long he sat, crying, weeping, sobbing for the only person he ever truly loved, when a loud knock sounded on one of his doors.

“Leave me!” he yelled. “I’ll not be disturbed!”

After a moment of quiet, in which he believed himself to be alone once again, a second pound on the door preceded the squeak of its hinges as it swung open.

Infuriated, Cullen jumped to his feet. “I said —”

“I heard you,” said a voice, thready but oh, so familiar. “I think I got a better welcome at Adamant.”

Miracle of miracles, Alistair stood in the doorway, covered in blood and grime, noticeably thinner, and leaning on his starmetal sword like a cane, but very much _alive_.

“Alistair!”

Cullen nearly vaulted the desk in his rush to get to the door, and thank the Maker he did, because Alistair swayed on his feet and collapsed just as Cullen reached him. Cullen caught him and sank to his knees, from both Alistair and the weight of his relief.

As he cradled Alistair to his chest, he shouted, “Fetch Sister Leliana and a healer!” He heard boots running across stone and knew his orders were being followed.

“Not injured,” Alistair said, head lolling. “Mostly. Just tired. Why does this place have so many stairs?”

“You should have told someone to fetch me,” Cullen scolded gently, checking for major wounds and finding none. He still couldn’t quite believe this wasn’t a dream.

“And ruin my entrance?”

Cullen laughed through his tears and clutched Alistair close. “Maker, I thought I’d lost you.”

“Couldn’t leave you alone.” Alistair smiled. “Someone has to make you eat and sleep.” He let his head fall to Cullen’s chest and looked up through watery eyes. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Sending a prayer of gratitude to Andraste, Cullen cupped Alistair’s cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Rest now, my love. I’ll keep you safe, and be here when you wake.”

Alistair’s eyes drooped closed, mouth quirking upward in a slight smile while Cullen cradled him and whispered sweet comforts and promises and declarations of his love until help arrived.


	2. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is alive, but he has a lot of 'splaining to do.

Alistair awoke to two familiar but opposing feelings.

First, someone — Cullen, he could tell, he could always tell — holding his hand and stroking his hair. It felt glorious.

Second, his stomach not so much growling as roaring, attempting to eat itself from the inside out. It felt … less than glorious.

Pretty terrible, actually. He was starving.

But the good outweighed the bad, and he kept his eyes closed to revel in Cullen’s gentle, loving touch, of which he could never receive his fill.

“Mother of Andraste, was that his _stomach_?” Leliana, on the opposite side of the bed as Cullen, sounded surprisingly incredulous, considering the various types and quantities of food she’d seen him inhale during the Blight.

Cullen chuckled, and behind his eyelids, Alistair felt the sting of tears. Maker, he’d missed him so much.

“Yes,” Cullen said. “Oftentimes it wakes me before it wakes him.”

“That is precisely my point. How has he not awakened yet?”

“He is exhausted, Leliana.” Cullen’s tone was oddly defensive. “The healers said that they found evidence of several partially healed broken bones, including —”

“His right arm and left foot, yes,” Leliana said, annoyed. “The healer spoke to both of us. Would you like to share more information I already know?”

Alistair clearly wasn’t the only one exhausted, since Cullen gave a sigh indicating he was exactly that. “I only meant to explain why he might be so tired that even his hunger wouldn’t wake him.”

Leliana upgraded to what Alistair called Level 2 Annoyed. “And _I_ was merely expressing my disbelief that, having likely not had a decent meal in over two weeks, his exhaustion outweighs the sort of hunger that could provoke _that_ noise.”

“And I am attempting to tell you that _that_ noise is not particularly unusual when it comes to —”

“For Maker’s sake,” Alistair mumbled. “Stop bickering.”

They did, although Cullen’s hand unfortunately ceased its comforting repetitions.

On the other hand — literally — Leliana twined her fingers with his, so that both his hands were being held by people he loved.

He was so used to waking up alone after injuries that he found the attention almost suffocating.

Almost.

Forcing his eyes open, Alistair found himself in the Skyhold infirmary with both Cullen and Leliana, neither wearing their standard armor, watching him silently, eyes wide and — damn it — anxious.

For them, he mustered a lopsided smile. “Anyway, you’re both right. I’m exhausted _and_ starving.”

Cullen cupped his cheek, and Alistair couldn’t help but lean into it, allowing his eyes to flutter closed for the duration of a long blink. Maker, how he’d missed Cullen’s touch.

“How are you feeling?” Cullen asked, then, with an eye roll so gentle it barely counted as one, added, “Aside from the obvious.”

Alistair shrugged, his lopsided smile weakening. “Those two are overwhelming everything else right now. Could I get some —?”

Before Alistair even started his question, Cullen turned, holding out a dinner roll before he could finish.

On his other side, Leliana snatched the roll from Cullen’s hand. “No. Explain first. Then food.”

“ _What?_ ” This was torture. Actual, literal torture. He was starving. Almost literally.

“Leliana,” Cullen quietly scolded. “He will tell us in time. Withholding food at this point is —”

“Necessary for the full truth.” Leliana turned to Alistair, mouth thin and eyes blazing. “You will receive a small piece in exchange for every answer.”

“Leliana …”

“I am not a mabari!” Alistair nearly shouted, and he dove for the roll, which Leliana easily moved out of range. He whined, “I’m so hungry …”

“Then this will go quickly,” she said. “You owe us an explanation for going missing for two weeks without a word. Cullen thought you were dead!”

“Leliana!” Cullen hissed. “Stop this.”

“I will not.” Leliana raised her chin to Cullen in defiance. Then, turning to Alistair, eyes harder than diamonds. “Explain. Now.”

Alistair shuddered. That last order reminded him of the way she’d spoken to Marjolaine all those years ago. Somehow, although then she’d been aiming her bow, she seemed more terrifying now.

He squeezed Cullen’s hand, which squeezed right back. “I — I’m so sorry. I never meant to —”

But Cullen cupped his cheeks with both hands this time and pressed a hard, intense kiss to his lips, the desperation and gratitude of which made his heart ache.

“You are safe,” Cullen whispered, forehead against Alistair’s and running his fingers through Alistair’s hair. “That is all that matters to me.”

Alistair knew Cullen meant it, but the words provided no comfort. Cullen had been through so much already, including fearing Alistair dead when he’d fallen into the Fade at Adamant.

Maybe he deserved Leliana’s torture after all.

“I was never in any real danger,” he said, gaze bouncing between the two.

Cullen squeezed his hand in both of his own.

Leliana pursed her lips and did not reward him with a bite of roll. “Your poorly healed broken bones imply otherwise. Try again. The truth this time.”

Cullen glared at her. “Leliana.”

“That _is_ —” Alistair began, but trailed off into silence at the near-murderous look in Leliana’s eyes. Letting his head fall back into his pillow, he took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to calm his furious stomach and aching heart.

Fine. If the truth was what they wanted, he’d give it to them. But he needed some first.

“Is Monette all right?” he whispered, blinking back tears.

“She is,” Leliana said.

“And —”

“Griffon arrived here three days after the rest of your Wardens. Everyone returned safely.” Leliana’s tone was cold, but Alistair closed his eyes in relief at the answers. “Except for you. Now, you _will_ explain yourself. I will not ask again.”

He let out a shuddering breath to keep himself from losing control. “They were dragging her away, Lels,” he whispered. “I had to stop them.”

“These are things we already know,” she snapped. “And not where our concerns lie.”

They might have known, but he wasn’t sure they understood. Or rather, he wasn’t sure Cullen understood.

“Did you explain … ?” He couldn’t finish.

Leliana sighed and pressed the roll into his hand, though Alistair didn’t feel like eating anymore. “I did not. He had plenty to worry and then grieve over without needing to think about that.”

Alistair flinched. Cullen should not have been grieving him, but he’d had no choice because of Alistair’s failures.

“Think about what?” Cullen snapped at Leliana. “I knew you were keeping something from me.” Then, to Alistair, he added, in only a slightly less commanding tone, “Explain. Now.”

Alistair couldn’t help but think that the two had suddenly switched roles — Cullen was giving orders now while Leliana sat quiet and upset. In any other circumstance, such a shift would have made him smile.

Alistair squeezed Cullen’s hand this time. “Ever wonder where darkspawn come from?”

“The original Tevinter magisters,” Cullen said, shaking his head as though it were an obvious, well-known fact and not a potentially mythological explanation the Chantry had been peddling for years.

But now wasn’t the time to get into a theological argument. Alistair shook his head. “I mean the new ones. Kill one, a dozen replace it.”

Cullen frowned. “The archdemons?”

“Darkspawn don’t disappear between Blights.”

“Alistair,” Leliana said quietly.

She was right. He was putting off the explanation. But it was awful, and he didn’t want to burden Cullen with the knowledge.

But Cullen wasn’t stupid. “Where do they come from?” he asked, underlying anxiety apparent in his words.

Alistair sighed again. “They’re called broodmothers. Enormous, disgusting creatures with a dozen …” He cupped his hands near his chest in a mimic of the female part. “Teats, of a sort. And tentacles.”

“And you’ve fought these creatures?” Cullen asked, aghast.

Alistair’s laugh was bitter. “I’ve _killed_ them. Hundreds by now.

“If they … _birth_ darkspawn,” Cullen spat, “then where do they —” His eyes widened, expression contorting in utter disgust, and shook his head. “You don’t mean …”

Alistair nodded. No, Cullen wasn’t stupid. Sometimes he was far too smart for his own good. “We discovered the process during the Blight.” His gaze, and Cullen’s, flicked to Leliana.

“They only take women.” Leliana’s eyes blazed with righteous rage.

“No,” Alistair corrected. “They don’t care what you call yourself, as long as you have the right … equipment.”

Krem, for example, would be in as much danger as Monette.

“How?” Cullen whispered in horror.

But Alistair shook his head. “I won’t tell you that. You have enough nightmares as it is.”

He and Leliana both shuddered.

“So you saved Monette from that fate,” Cullen said, squeezing Alistair’s hand again. “Thank the Maker.”

“That still doesn’t explain —”

“I’m getting there,” Alistair interrupted Leliana. He still held the uneaten roll in his free hand. “I’ve learned, over the years, that broodmothers congregate. They nest in groups.” Glancing at Leliana, he explained while picking at the roll with his fingers. “During the Blight, when we … well, you know. We interrupted them. Lone broodmothers are rare.” He shrugged. “And darkspawn don’t always capture. That meant there was most likely a nest nearby. I got rid of most of the group that grabbed Monette, but a few got away, and I had to follow them. They could lead me to the nest.”

“What of Duncan’s shield?” Cullen asked.

“I dropped it to pick up a second weapon and didn’t have time to grab it before I followed the ones that escaped.”

“So it wasn’t a message.” Cullen spoke it like a statement, raising an eyebrow at Leliana.

“Uh, not intentionally,” Alistair admitted. “But afterward I kind of hoped one of you would figure out that the shield without _me_ was a sign that I wasn’t dead?”

“But if it had been a message,” Leliana said to Cullen, cocking an eyebrow of her own, “it would have meant you were alive.”

“I _told_ you he would never leave it behind willingly!”

“And I told _you_ he wasn’t dead.”

Alistair was starting to get annoyed. “What is going on right now?”

Two-thirds of the Inquisition’s advisers stared each other down.

“Cullen is quick to fear the worst.”

“And Leliana finds secret messages in everything.”

“Yeeesss …” Alistair frowned. “I’m aware of the difference in your outlooks on life.”

Leliana speared him with a particularly nasty glare. “Cullen looked at the evidence — your Wardens and later your horse returning without you, your shield but no other sign, no word for two weeks — and worried you were dead. While I …” She blinked several times in quick succession before clearing her throat. “I _assumed_ that you must have had a very good reason for your lack of communication. Which you have still not explained.”

Alistair squeezed his eyes closed to once again keep in his tears. He had never meant to worry them, especially Cullen. But in their shoes he’d have been just as upset, just as catastrophic in his fears, just as grieved at losing someone he cared about.

To keep them from worrying any longer, he spoke as quickly as possible and wouldn’t allow himself to be interrupted again.

“I’m sorry.” The burn in his throat made his voice hoarse. “I had no way to send a message. I followed the darkspawn to the broodmothers’ den so I could come back with the rest of my Wardens to finish them off. But I was tired and hungry, and I messed up, and they figured out I was there. I couldn’t fight everything that came at me, so I rigged up the last of my explosive grenades to cause a cave-in. Only I’m not an expert and got caught in the explosion.”

“Hence the broken bones,” Leliana said.

He nodded, eyes still shut tight, and Cullen squeezed his hand again. That, more than anything else, gave him the strength to finish.

“I only had a single weak healing potion left, which is why the bones didn’t fully heal. I’d caved in the entrance I’d descended through, so it took me a couple days to make it back to the surface. And then I had to get my surface bearings and head back here on foot.”

When he finally opened his eyes, his vision had grown far too blurred to see anything clearly. Because Maker, for those few days he was in the Deep Roads, he’d believed that he would die down there alone — killed by starvation, darkspawn, or both. He’d feared he would never see Cullen again, never be able to tell him how much he loved him. How Cullen had given him back his will to live, his sense of duty, his purpose in life.

Cullen wrapped him in his warm, strong, safe embrace and rocked him like a babe.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed into Cullen’s shoulder. “I didn’t see a soul on my way to Skyhold. I tried to find the paths, but there’s so much new snow, and I wasn’t able to stay on track, and I was so tired and _hungry_ …”

“Hush, my love.” How could Cullen be so steady after what Alistair had put him through? He rubbed Alistair’s back and cradled his head in one large palm. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

“I would have sent a message if I could,” Alistair cried. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to worry you.”

“Shh. I know. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Cullen’s arms tightened around him as he repeated those comforting words over and over. And somehow, Alistair’s heartbeat began to slow, and he calmed until he could no longer keep himself upright. When he slumped, exhausted, against Cullen, he felt lips press against his temple before strong, steady arms lay him back down onto the bed.

“You’re safe,” Cullen whispered, thumb stroking his cheek. “And that’s all that matters.”

Then, in a quiet, controlled tone Alistair recognized as his Furious Commander voice, Cullen said to Leliana, “I’d like speak with you in private for a moment.”

Alistair grabbed Leliana’s hand before she or Cullen could move. “I’m sorry,” he said to her, fresh tears welling.

Leliana, as Cullen had, cupped his cheek with one hand and squeezed his hand with the other. “No, my friend, I am sorry. I know that I pushed you hard, but I feared you would bottle everything up and that Cullen would not press the issue.”

Alistair couldn’t deny that it had worked. Though now more tired than ever, he felt as though a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been bearing was lifted from his shoulders and chest.

“You’ve always been too clever for your own good,” Leliana said, “hiding your pain behind jokes and deflecting with concerns about others in the hopes that people will forget to ask how you fare. I could not allow you to do that now. But I am truly sorry that lancing the wound hurt you so.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. For helping him open up, for holding out hope, for taking care of Cullen — well, except that.

She placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Now rest. I will fetch you a meal or three so you may eat when you feel hungry again. In fifteen minutes or so.”

Alistair smirked at that, and then said, “Wait. I need you both to promise me something.”

Cullen and Leliana both shared a concerned look — because of course they did — before turning to him expectantly.

“Alistair,” Cullen said, caressing his cheek, “there’s no need to —”

“Yes, there is.” Alistair swallowed the lump in his throat. “Promise me that when — if —” Oh, who was he kidding? “ _When_ I go to answer my Calling or whatever happens to me … Promise me that you two will look after each other? Don’t fight about me, please. Just …” He turned to Cullen. “Don’t let her get all murdery. She’ll need someone to be her conscience, and you’re really good at that.” Then he looked to Leliana, blinking through tears. “And he’s going to need someone to take care of him for a while. Don’t let him give up, okay? Remind him that the world will need him to keep going as long as he’s able.” He reached for each of their hands and brought them together in his own. “You’re two of the people I care about most in all of Thedas, and I want to make sure you’re both going to be all right. Promise me?”

Cullen, amber eyes shining, shook his head. “I don’t see why —”

“Yes.” Leliana steadily met Alistair’s gaze. “I promise.”

Then she glanced at Cullen, who took a deep breath and said, “Of course. I promise.”

Alistair lay back against the pillow, content for now.

“I should go find you some real food.” Leliana stood, pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead, and headed for the door. “And get some rest,” she tossed over her shoulder as she left the infirmary. “That’s an order.”

* * *

“Are you in any pain right now?” Cullen asked.

Alistair could barely shake his head no, so drained was he after everything. “Not physically.”

Cullen frowned at that, then nodded. “Scoot over,” he said, lifting Alistair’s blankets and waving at him to roll or shift in order to make room.

Alistair did, gladly, rolling to his side while Cullen lay down and adjusted the blankets. Once, they both were settled, Cullen wrapped his arm around Alistair’s waist and pulled him against his chest.

They both let loose harmonizing moans, each filled with too many emotions to express in words.

Cullen embraced Alistair with both arms, one across his shoulders and the other hanging loosely over his belly, and Alistair closed his eyes, a hard lump in his throat. Cullen clutched him tight, buried his face in Alistair’s neck, and said nothing for a long while.

“I love you so much,” Cullen whispered, his lips ghosting over Alistair’s skin before pressing against it in a kiss, the precious, desperate love of which burned like a brand. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Tears finally escaped and rolled down Alistair’s face into the pillow. He turned in Cullen’s arms, cupped his cheek, and said what he’d feared in the Deep Roads he’d never be able to. “I love you, too. More than words can describe. And you’ve given me so much. I have a purpose again and a reason to keep going. And I will never stop trying to find my way back to you. You’re …” A sob cut off his words, and he let his eyes flutter closed. “My everything, Cullen.”

Cullen kissed him then, and this one contained so much that Alistair thought his heart might burst. When he opened his eyes, Cullen’s cheeks were streaked with tears, too.

“As you are mine,” Cullen whispered. “Do not ever worry me like that again. That’s an order.”

“Technically, I don’t answer to you …”

“An. Order.” Cullen punctuated the words by tightening his arms slightly with each one.

“Fine. But I’m only following it because I’m _choosing_ to.” Alistair smirked. “For your sake.”

Cullen’s smile was small but genuine. “That’s all I ask.” He kissed Alistair once more, this one so tender that Alistair’s stomach flipped. “Now get some rest, my love. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Alistair was on the verge of sleep when a deep grumble echoed through him. His eyes snapped open.

“Cullen? I’m starving.”

Cullen’s baritone laugh rumbled into Alistair’s chest, so warm and soft that it wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. Cullen detangled himself and reached under the chair he’d been sitting in, turning back to Alistair with a sack and dumping out its contents.

Alistair sat up straight, gaping at the dozen or so rolls now sitting in his lap. He picked up one and ate it in three bites.

“This was all I had time to grab from the kitchen,” said Cullen, smiling. “But I figured it would be enough to hold you over until we were able to get you a real meal.”

Alistair finished off his second roll and started on a third. “I love you,” he said, mouth full, moaning in ecstasy.

Cullen wrapped an arm around his shoulders and, chuckling, kissed Alistair’s temple as he reached for a fourth roll. “I love you, too.”


End file.
